Everybody Lies
by Kootenai
Summary: Basically what Sherlock finds out when he views himself from a different angle. No ship, sorry. Please read, this is my first fanfic! Note: Sherlock gets a little OOC at the end. He became human! Omg...


**Title: **"Everybody Lies" –Greg House

**Author: **Kootenai

**Pairing:** John/Sherlock, Sherlock/House

**Rating: **T

**Word Count: **2,550

**Disclaimer: **Sherlock Holmes and John Watson belong to ACD and BBC. Greg House belongs to FOX, while Hugh Laurie belongs to himself. (Good for him)

**Summary: **Basically what Sherlock finds out when he views himself from a different angle. No ship, sorry. Please read, this is my first fanfic!

Doctor Watson was, by now, used to the strange comings and goings of his flat mate. The limbs of the dead, which seemed to find their way into the refrigerator, even if he didn't like it, no longer startled him. The strange franticness of Sherlock on a case and the quiet lulls of when he was bored became as regular as the pips on a heart rate monitor. Even at three in the morning, when the sound of a violin pierced the air, John was able to nod himself back to sleep, getting used to the patterns of musical dreams. Sherlock Holmes was not an easy man to live with, but John didn't find it exceedingly difficult either. However, sometimes there were things even he couldn't explain about his flat mate.

On one such occasion, he had come home from the surgery to find Sherlock sitting quietly in front of the telly. He was curled up with his knees to his chest and his head peering between his legs at the screen. For some reason, the tall man seemed to be able to shrink and fold into the most compact forms. His curly dark brown, nearly black, hair lay ruffled and messy on top of his head, while the reflected light off the screen illuminated his grey-blue eyes. The harsh light made his already prominent cheekbones sharper, while his lips were tightened into a thin line. Sherlock's long and pale fingers stood steepled on his knees with his fingertips just grazing his nose. He was wearing his pajamas, a grey t-shirt and blue-checkered pants with a blue dressing gown on top. The odd thing about the picture was the amount of concentration he was giving the television.

Recently, John had given in to buying TiVo for the telly. Oddly enough, it was Sherlock's idea. It wasn't meant to be used for crap telly, it was so he could record news updates and watch crime videos over and over, so he could absorb the information fully. There were times when Sherlock would pause the program and get close to the screen to observe minute details before nodding to himself. From what John could tell, this was one of those times.

He shed his coat and boots and let himself into the kitchen, fixing himself a cup of tea before returning to the main room and sitting down at the computer. John took a quick glance over as Sherlock to see what could possibly be so interesting, when he realized that the telly was completely silent and Sherlock was watching a man play the piano.

"Sherlock…"

A grunt from the man told John that Sherlock acknowledged he was there.

"Are you watching a man play the piano on mute?"

"Shh…"

He seemed so enraptured by the image of the man playing the keys that he didn't seem to realize that the television had no sound. John watched this silent exchange between the screen and Sherlock before turning back to his computer. There were some things he would never quite understand about his flat mate. It was a good few minutes before John heard a click from the remote, telling him that Sherlock had paused the program.

"John…"

"Yes?"

"Who is that?"

When John turned around he saw Sherlock pointing at the screen, where an older man was playing the piano. The shot was taken in such a way that the keys weren't seen, but the upper half of the pianist was shown. He was a handsome man, probably in his fifties or so, short brown-grey hair and stubble, and well chiseled features. It was a rather expressive face, with glinting ice blue eyes hiding under a definitive brow line. John recognized him after a few moments.

"That's Hugh Laurie, Sherlock."

His flat mate turned to face him with an eyebrow raised quizzically.

"Is he a musician?"

John stared, wondering if there was a double meaning to the question. It was obvious that the man was playing the piano, so he assumed Sherlock meant professionally.

"Yes, he is."

Sherlock's eyes looked back at the screen, "I've seen his face before. I must've deleted it…"

John snorted, "Course. He's done ads before and he's an actor."

Sherlock seemed almost uninterested in this information, for it wasn't long before he had gathered up his violin and rewound the program then unmuted it. John watched quietly as Hugh began to play on the piano and Sherlock accompanied him on the violin. The song was bluesy, and between the music on the telly and the violin, John could hear Hugh singing. It was definitely a new experience to hear Sherlock play along with the television, and when he was done he shut the machine off and put the instrument down.

John could almost hear the gears in Sherlock's head working and sighed, then turned back to his computer. In a few moments he heard the tell tale sound of keys clicking as Sherlock searched on his phone for something. Then there was silence, the kind that told John that his flat mate was thinking something that had nothing to do with anything important. It stayed quiet like this for a while before John announced he was turning in for the night. Sherlock nodded and resumed his thinking.

Somewhere around four in the morning there was the sound of two men at the same time saying, "Idiots."

John rolled out of bed and down the stairs to find Sherlock had not moved, but seemed to actually be enjoying something on the telly. Before John could ask, he heard a flawless American accent from the speakers.

"Wilson… I know you're in there… I can hear you CARING!"

Sherlock seemed quite amused by what was going on, almost as happy as when he had a case. John walked around behind the chair to see what was so incredible that even the great Sherlock Holmes wasn't bored by it. On the screen, Hugh Laurie was banging on the door of a Doctor's office with a cane.

"Sherlock? What is this?"

"Pure, American brilliance, John." He was smiling, obviously amused by the comings and goings of men and women in white coats.

John sat down on the armrest and watched the show with Sherlock, aware that Sherlock seemed to actually understand the social dynamics of this rather insane doctor that Hugh Laurie pretended to be.

At a commercial break, John paused the program before Sherlock could fast forward. Sherlock seemed like a child who had his favorite toy snatched away from him.

John asked again, "What is this?"

"Telly."

"Yes, I can see that, Sherlock. What are you watching?"

"Medical drama."

John raised an eyebrow; not realizing this was something that interested Sherlock at all. "Why?"

"Because it isn't boring. It's actually quite entertaining."

"And why is this particular show so interesting? What is it called anyway?"

Sherlock moved around in his chair a little; seemingly eager to get back to watching, while John stared at him in disbelief. "It's called House M.D."

John held the remote closer to his body, letting Sherlock know he wasn't going to let him finish the show until he knew why this was so interesting. With Sherlock, there are only a few reasons why anything on the telly was interesting, and most of them had to do with crime and insufficient news coverage.

"I like the main character. He's a genius."

John stared at Sherlock as if he had just explained quite clearly how the revolution of the earth around the sun was unimportant knowledge. "What?"

"Let me finish watching. You'll see. He's brilliant."

The program continued and John immediately saw why Sherlock liked the character Greg House so much. It was like looking at a medical Sherlock Holmes. He never took boring cases, never stopped to think when speaking, defied the rules set before him, was working on a drug dependence, saw himself as a figure higher than any authority and didn't care what people thought about him as long as he was right. Seemingly, House only had one friend, who seemed to barely put up with the man. John felt a pang of understanding for poor Wilson, who tried his best with this socially inept genius. But the oddest thing was that Sherlock seemed to understand the dynamics between House and Wilson quite well, and although he laughed openly when House did something out of line he scowled when Wilson took the blame and was hurt.

After a few scenes in which House was speaking with his team, both he and Sherlock muttered at the same time, "Idiots."

John raised an eyebrow again, but didn't say anything until the episode was over. "So did you figure it out before House did Sherlock?"

He shook his head, quietly processing the information for anything that should be deleted. "I figured it out as he did. I'm not a medical professional, John."

"So what do you think about him and Wilson?"

"Good friends. Greg's only friend. The only person who puts up with him."

"Any reason why?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, "Not sure. I don't know if I could be… friends with somebody like that."

John looked rather surprised by this answer. "Why's that?"

"He's brilliant, really, but insufferable. He hurts people to get results, and only cares if they are right. He could probably kill a person to make a point. He is the best at what he does and he knows it, a slight put off to anybody else I'm sure. Sarcasm and truth seem to be his only companions…"

Sherlock went on for about five minutes on an in depth analysis of House's character before John failed to keep a straight face. Sherlock stopped speaking immediately and snapped his head towards John, trying to figure out why he was suppressing laughter.

"What? Did I say something?"

John nodded then shook his head, unsure of what to say exactly. Then finally said, "So you don't know why anybody would even try to understand him?"

Sherlock seemed slightly lost, "No idea. I wouldn't. I mean, I enjoy intelligence, but that is over doing it. There isn't a single person like that, so that's why it makes good television."

John couldn't restrain himself. He was laughing at the irony of Sherlock's words, while Sherlock himself seemed confused.

"What is so funny?"

"Sherlock, you just gave me every reason why you wouldn't want to be friends with yourself."

The consulting detective seemed shocked that John would even say such things, and then his eyes started to dart back and forth. It was something that he did during cases when he was comparing things inside his head. Slowly his eyes grew wide, rather comically for him actually, and looked back and forth from the telly to John.

"No… That's… I…"

John patted his knee and smiled, then handed Sherlock back the remote and headed to bed. Before long, he could hear the telly again and John drifted off to sleep with the sounds of Greg House and Sherlock both muttering, "Idiots." Although, he thought that Sherlock seemed surprised when he said it because he wouldn't say anything about things that they missed.

The next morning, there was a quick rapping on John's door. "Watson… I know you are in there… I can hear you caring."

John put on a lazy grin, and answered the door. A seemingly upset Sherlock was standing there, and before John could say anything, he was already in his room sitting on his bed.

"Yes, Dr. Sherlock Homes?" John dropped the "l" in Sherlock's last name, making it painfully obvious that he was a plural of Dr. House.

"I… don't treat you like that do I?"

The concern seemed genuine, and John crossed his arms over his chest.

"You mean like House treats Wilson?"

The curls on Sherlock's head bounced as he nodded curtly.

"Why the sudden interest?"

Sherlock looked up, searching for something in John's eyes that John wasn't sure was even there. "It's awful. I don't know how Wilson did it. House was just awful to him and time and time again, Wilson was there. Why?"

John sat down next to him on the bed and looked at the wall, "Because Wilson cares about him. Isn't it obvious? You seem to understand their friendship. Wilson just cares, and House takes advantage of that."

Sherlock put his head into his hands and massaged his temples. This was clearly stressing him out on some level.

"They aren't going to be friends forever, John. That kind of relationship won't work long enough," his voice was worried and slightly sad.

John reached over and patted him on the back, "Don't worry, Sherlock. It's not like that between us. I mean to some degree, yes. But I wouldn't dwell on it. Like you said earlier, it's a fictional character. I care about you, yes. But do you really think I'd let you get away with what House gets away with?"

Sherlock's fingers found John's and held them still gently, "I care about you too, John. I would be appalled with myself if I acted that way towards you. I don't want to hurt you like that."

"And I would like it very much if you didn't hurt me like that. Sometimes it happens, but I know it won't always be like that."

Sherlock sighed and leaned his head on John's shoulder. John just patted his head and said softly, "Come on, let's see if Dr. Chase is being an idiot again."

There was a low chuckle and the two of them smiled at each other. By the time they had gotten down stairs and finished another episode, Sherlock seemed convinced that the fictional character did resemble him, but was indeed not him. Over a few pieces of toast and a cup of tea, the two discussed the actual medical case in detail.

"So, what you are saying is that the perfect criminal would have Chimera Syndrome?"

Sherlock nodded, pulling apart his toast but not eating it, "Think of the possibilities, John! Two sets of DNA in one body. They could spill blood and lead it to a relative or rape somebody and their name not show up on the police records. It's genius."

John nodded it seemed quite interesting actually. There was a short buzzing sound as Sherlock picked up his phone and read the text.

"Lestrade. Says there is an impossible case. The only person who could have done it left evidence of them being there…"

John smiled and completed the sentence, "But the acts of aggression were linked to either a non-existent family member or a sibling who wasn't there."

They both grinned and Sherlock sent Lestrade a text with the basic information of Chimera Syndrome. An hour later there was a knock on the door, which John answered. Lestrade walked in without even acknowledging the fact John had opened the door.

"How the bloody hell did you know the suspect had some weird genetic defect? You weren't even there to look at anything! The suspect's alibi checked out fine until I texted you."

Sherlock gave Lestrade one of his rare and genuine grins then replied, "Everybody lies."


End file.
